


Mission: Gravity Falls

by The Last Speecher (orphan_account)



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Mystery Trio, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-20 16:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6017374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/The%20Last%20Speecher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an alternate universe, where Stanley, Stanford, Fiddleford, as well as other characters are part of a covert espionage organization called Gravity Falls.  The goal is to keep the world running smoothly, but when a traitor is revealed, how can they trust anyone?<br/>(On forever hiatus.  Sorry for the inconvenience.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. From Germany with Love

If they were being honest with themselves, they would admit that they should have known sooner. The strange disappearances and subpar excuses were obvious clues, and given _what they were_ , they should have picked up on those clues. Maybe it was blissful ignorance. They didn’t want to acknowledge that some of those explanations hit a little close to home, were eerily similar to ones they themselves had used. No one wondered how, for the strangest of reasons, things would line up so perfectly. Looking back, it was so obvious. But no one asked the question even once. 

It would still be answered, though, on June 23, 2002.

 

**June 23, 2002 – The Northwest Mansion, Berlin, Germany**

“Remind me why I have to wear this monkey suit, again?” Stan grumbled, tugging at the collar of his tux. 

“It’s a high-class gala. If you show up in khakis and a polo shirt, you’ll be turned away at the door,” Ford replied. “And given that this mission relies upon us actually being inside…”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

“Boys, settle down,” a gentle British voice said calmly, also over the comlink. “Now, everyone, are you in position?” A chorus of voices greeted his question. “One at a time! Alphabetical order, please, for my peace of mind.”

“Atbash is in position,” Ford said, his voice slightly distorted with an added New Jersey accent.

“Caesar is in position,” Stan said, still fidgeting with his suit.

“Diamond is in position,” the voice of a French woman said softly.

“Turquoise is in position,” a gruff Russian voice said.

“Now, to refresh everyone’s memory,” the British voice, Gif, said, “I will state your role in this mission.”

“Do you really need to?” Stan asked. “I mean, I don’t know about Diamond and Turquoise, but Atbash and I were debriefed about a million times on the way over.” Someone snickered over the comlink.

“Atbash, your job is to obtain the names of the buyers, by hacking the computer system. Turquoise, your job is to get close to Befufftlefumpter and obtain any names possible through that method. Diamond, prevent security from removing Turquoise from Buffuftlefumpter’s vicinity. Caesar, if things go south, go in guns blazing.” Stan grunted. “Does everyone understand?” Various accented voices gave their affirmation. “All right then, head inside and enjoy the party.”

 

“I’ve completed my portion of the mission,” Ford said. They had been inside for about forty-five minutes now. 

“What took you so long?” Stan asked snarkily, leaning against a wall. He was avoiding getting in the midst of the fancily-dressed partygoers, preferring to keep an eye on things from a distance. “Last time it took you like five minutes to do your hacking thing.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” Ford replied. “It was more difficult than I expected.”

“Well done, Atbash,” Gif said. “Stay around though, as backup, if need be.”

“Of course.”

“Status update from everyone, please.”

“Not seeing much of anything weird,” Stan said casually. “Well, if you don’t count that one person in the lion suit. What was that about?”

“Turquoise cannot respond right now,” Diamond said. “But their portion of the mission is going very well. As is mine.”

“Thank you, Caesar and Diamond. If a situation develops, keep me in the loop.”

“You got it.” Stan continued to lean against the wall, trying to ignore how tight his suit jacket was, as well as how hot his mask was. He hadn’t realized that rich people parties were this uncomfortable. 

“Guten Abend,” a smooth female voice said. He jolted to his feet. One of the ladies had broken off from the pack of overly dressed upper-class folk. She glided over to him, a disarming smile on her face.

_Shit_ , Stan thought.

“Haben Sie Spaβ?” she asked.

“Uh, sorry, um,” Stan stammered, trying to remember the German phrases he had been taught before arriving in Berlin. “Ich spreche nicht Deutsch. Is that right?”

“Your pronunciation could use some work, but good,” she said in thickly accented English.

“You speak English?” She chuckled.

“Most people in Germany do.” She leaned against the wall next to him, idly twirling a strand of caramel-colored hair around her finger. “So you are from the United States, yes?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. They stood in silence for a moment, watching the other people sipping champagne and laughing snootily. Stan shifted uncomfortably. The music changed. She looked up.  
“Would you care to dance?”

“I don’t think so.” She pouted. “I have two left feet.” That wasn’t true, but Stan made it a general rule to not be distracted from a mission, particularly by someone wearing a mask. Well, it was a masquerade, but the fact remained. He didn’t want to dance with some strange rich German lady and risk wrecking the mission.

“I don’t believe that,” she said coyly. Stan looked away. A sharp burst of static suddenly sounded over his headset. 

“Ouch!” He quickly looked back at the stranger. She was gone. “Gif, what was that?” he hissed. No response. “Gif?” Still nothing. “Hey, Atbash, I think something may have gone wrong back at HQ. Gif isn’t responding.”

“What? But he always responds!” 

“Where are you? Maybe we can end the mission early, or at least one of us can leave.”

“I’m by the food table, but I don’t know if it would be wise to-” Whatever else he was going to say was cut off by a commotion.

“I knew it! Yet another spy, from that shadow organization!” the target, Eustace Beffuftlefumpter, crowed. He had ripped the mask off of someone. Someone that Stan recognized. 

“Turquoise!” Diamond said, distressed. “Caesar, where are you? We need to get to them!” 

“Everyone, the party is over!” Befufftlefumpter shouted, shoving Turquoise into the arms of a nearby security guard. “Leave at once!” Immediately, a veritable wave of extravagantly dressed people poured toward the exit.

“Caesar, Atbash, I need your help!” Diamond said.

“Diamond, we’ll have to reconvene at HQ,” Ford said. “There are too many people here and there’s no possible way to get to Turquoise.” No one responded. “Diamond? Did you hear me?”

“I heard you,” she said huffily. There was a small beep as she turned off her headset.

Stan and Ford met each other outside the mansion. 

“Stan, what happened in there?” Ford asked quietly. They began to walk toward where the Stanleymobile was parked. “I thought you were supposed to be keeping an eye on things.”

“I got distracted.”

“Really?”

“It’s not important.”

“I’m fairly certain it’s important. And I’m positive the Chief will think so as well.”

“So the person that Befufftlefumpter unmasked,” Stan said, unlocking the car and getting in the driver’s seat.

“Don’t think that I don’t know what you’re doing,” Ford scolded, getting in as well. He paused to buckle. “But yes, I recognized them as well.” He looked out the window. “Is Marley really a part of Gravity Falls?”

 

**September 3, 2000 – Annapolis, Maryland, United States**

“I have somethin’ to tell you.” Stan and Ford looked up at Fiddleford. They were sitting at the kitchen table, eating breakfast.

“Are you finally coming out?” Stan asked. Fiddleford blushed.

“No, it’s not that.” He took a seat at the table with them. “Ford, you’ve met my younger sister, Angie.”

“Is she the one that studied biology?”

“Both of my sisters studied biology.”

“Is she the one that doesn’t wear glasses?”

“Yes.” He paused. “She graduated college a few months ago, and has been havin’ trouble finding a place to stay. So I may or may not have invited her to stay here.” Stan raised an eyebrow.

“Why couldn’t she have stayed back at your parent’s place?”

“Angie’s too independent for that. Also, she went to school in San Diego, so she’s gotten a taste for bigger cities.” Fiddleford rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s just, well, she’s the baby of the family, the youngest, and Ma and Pa want someone to keep an eye on her. She’s kinda reckless and can be a bit of a space case.”

“Are you sure it’s a good idea for her to live here, then?” Ford asked. “I mean, Stan and I are gone all the time for our jobs.”

“Come on, Sixer, I’m sure it’ll be fun,” Stan said. “You’ll get to have another nerd in the house. You can all watch Star Trek together.”

“Angie actually doesn’t really like Star Trek.”

“Eh, you guys can still talk about your boring science things all the time. I say, sure, let the chick stay here. Someone to help pay the rent.”

“Ford?” Fiddleford asked expectantly.

“I suppose she can stay here, for a while,” he said finally. Fiddleford perked up.

“Good, because she should get here any minute now.” He leapt up from the table and went to the front door.

“Wait, what?”

“Oh, and she’s bringin’ her college roommate, too.”

“ _Two_ people are moving in?” As if on cue, a smart car pulled into the driveway. The passenger side door opened, and a young woman with caramel-colored hair got out. She said something to the driver of the car, then made a beeline for the door. Fiddleford opened it.

“Fidds!” she said happily, embracing him. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen ya!”

“I was at your graduation,” he said, smiling. 

“That’s what I said. Too long.” Stan and Ford both noted that she had the same sort of southern accent that Fiddleford did, but less prominent. She looked outside. “Oh, let me grab Marley.” She ran back to the car.

“So that’s your sister, eh?” Stan asked. “She’s cute.”

“Excuse me?”

“Whatever you think I said, I’m sure I didn’t,” Stan said, opening up his newspaper and avoiding eye contact with Fiddleford.

“I see the family resemblance,” Ford said. It was fairly obvious that they were related. Angie had the same distinctive nose as Fiddleford and same blue eyes. She was several inches shorter than him, however, and was more freckled. The door opened again, and Angie was back, this time with someone beside her.

“Fidds, you’ve met Marley before.” Marley, androgynous, with light brown hair and thick glasses, held out their hand. Fiddleford shook it.

“Nice to see you again, Fiddleford.”

“Likewise.” Fiddleford looked back at the table, where the Stan twins were still sitting. “Stanley, Stanford, please, come introduce yourselves.” They stood up and walked over, Stan grumbling slightly. “Angie, Marley, this is Stanley and Stanford Pines. Stanford here was my college roommate at Backsupmore, and Stanley is his twin brother.” Angie and Marley smiled politely. “Stan, Ford, this my sister Angie and her friend Marley Schmetterling.” There was a round of mutual greetings. However, when Angie shook Ford’s hand, she paused.

“Wait, do you have post-axial polydactyly?” she asked. Ford turned red.

“Um…”

“Because that’s so cool!”

“Really?”

“Yeah! Can I see?” Ford held out his hands cautiously. She gasped.

“Post-axial polydactyly with a fully functionin’ finger on one hand is rare enough, but on both hands? That’s a one in a million chance!” 

“Uh, thanks?”

“Angie, you and Marley should probably unpack. You’ll have plenty of time for introductions and what have you later,” Fiddleford said. Angie nodded and she and Marley went back to the car to retrieve their luggage.

“So, what do you think of Maryland so far?” Marley asked her. 

“I think we’re goin’ to like it here.”


	2. The Spy Who Fooled Me

**June 23, 2002 – Berlin, Germany**

Stan and Ford exited the Stanleymobile. They had made their way back to HQ without any incidents, and were wondering why they had never been told that a person living with them was in the same covert espionage organization. Stan opened the door of HQ, designed to be similar in appearance to a business building. At least, on the outside. 

“Holy Moses,” he muttered. A mere few hours ago, they had been at HQ, and everything had been running smoothly. But right now it looked like a freak tornado had come through. Furniture was scattered throughout the room, some of it broken, things had been thrown through at least four computer monitors, and on the floor he could see some pools of a dark red liquid he recognized. A few people were sitting at unbroken computers, trying to make sure missions were completed. The Chief was standing in the middle of the room, talking to a tall, gangly man. Stan and Ford approached them. 

“How many people were injured in the incident?” the Chief asked the man.

“Not sure. Fifteen, maybe.”

“Has anyone been killed?”

“No. At least, I don’t think so. A lot of moderators were cut off from their missions, so who knows what situations the field agents are in.”

“Was your mission successful?”

“I was one of the people cut off. Don’t know how the mission went, or the status of the agents I was supervising.”

“Well, _our_ mission fell apart and an agent got kidnapped,” Stan said abruptly, butting into the conversation. The Chief and the moderator turned to face the Stans.

“Fiddleford?” Ford asked, disbelieving. 

“Shh! Keep it down, will ya?” the southern man hissed. “Real names aren’t allowed in HQ, you know that!” 

“But, wait, you’re a _moderator_? Why didn’t you tell us?”

“You know the rules of this organization,” the Chief grumbled. “Real names are classified, except in the case of partners and some high-level moderators.”

“Are you one of those high-level moderators?” Stan asked Fiddleford. 

“…Yeah.” He blinked. “Wait, what went wrong? When I checked in with you last, the mission was going smoothly. Who was kidnapped?”

“You’re Gif?” 

“Yes, I am, now if you could please tell me what happened.”

“Well, things went south and Turquoise, who is apparently Marley, was kidnapped,” Ford said.

“Is everyone in the house a spy _except_ for Angie?” Stan demanded. The door slammed open.

“Chief!” a female voice shouted. Heels pounded against the stone floor. Ford was shoved roughly to the side by someone much shorter than him. The angry person came to a stop in front of the Chief. “What happened in there? Turquoise and I were supposed to have backup in case things went south. And they did! But our backup was nowhere, and now my partner has been kidnapped! Where was our backup?”

“Right here,” Stan said. The agent, which Stan now realized was Diamond, spun around. Her eyes widened.

“Angie?” Ford said, confused. “ _You’re_ a spy, too?” Stan groaned. 

“This is a mess,” he muttered.

“My office, now,” the Chief thundered. Angie sighed.

“And here I thought I wasn’t goin’ to visit the Chief’s office this month,” she said under her breath.

 

The Chief took a seat behind the large desk in the office. Angie, Stan, and Ford were all standing awkwardly. There had only been one chair in the room when they arrived, and the Chief insisted that Fiddleford had it.

“So, what happened?” the Chief asked. There were obvious bullet holes in his suit, through which Kevlar was visible. He had a large splatter of blood over his left cheek.

“Caesar didn’t do his job,” Angie said snippily. 

“Hey! I was doing my job just fine! What exactly were you doing, huh?”

“Distractin’ security, like I was told,” she snapped.

“If you were doing your job, then how come security managed to get a hold of Turquoise?” Stan fired back. Angie glowered.

“There’s more than one security agent at rich folk shindigs. I was targetin’ the one I thought was the most threatenin’.” Her southern accent became progressively stronger as she got more upset. “Where were ya? Huh? You shoulda seen when things started goin’ wrong!”

“It’s not my fault! Some random person came up to me and started chatting. I couldn’t keep an eye on things and avoid offending some upper crust lady at the same time! Wait.” Stan stared at Angie’s dress. 

“What exactly am I waitin’ for?”

“You were the person distracting me!” Stan said abruptly. Angie blinked, taken aback.

“What?”

“Did you really think I was security? Is that why you asked me to dance?”

“If I’d seen under that mask, I wouldn’t’ve,” she muttered. Her head whipped around to face Ford. “Weren’t you supposed to be keepin’ an eye on things, too?”

“Hey, I did my portion of the mission. Don’t blame me.” The Chief cleared his throat. Angie, Stan, and Ford stopped bickering.

“So, none of you did your job properly, and now an agent is missing.”

“I did my job!” Ford said defensively. “I got the intel.”

“You were also told to be backup in case things went south, which they did.”

“I-”

“Not only do we have to deal with a potential mole within Gravity Falls, but we also have to deal with an agent being kidnapped and unmasked at a large event,” the Chief said, cutting Ford off. 

“Mole?” Angie asked.

“How else would we have been attacked? No one outside the organization knows the location of HQ,” Fiddleford said quietly.

“Wait, Gif, where were you?” Stan asked suddenly. “You disappeared from the comlink, and then everything hit the fan.”

“We were attacked, Caesar. My monitor was one of the ones that got destroyed.”

“Oh, right.” Stan paused for a moment. “Kinda weird, the way that everything went wrong at about the same time.” The Chief raised an eyebrow.

“What are you suggesting?”

“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just stating a fact. Seems a bit too coincidental to me.” The Chief stared down Stan. Stan stared back, not blinking.

“Something to keep in mind,” he said finally, then turned his swivel chair around and made a shooing motion. “Leave.”

 

“Angie, do you need a ride?” Fiddleford asked once they were outside the building.

“Do you have a car here?”

“No, but I’m sure Stanley and Stanford would give us a lift.” Stan grunted.

“Yeah, okay.”

“I’ll walk,” Angie said.

“It’s three miles to the hotel.”

“So?”

“Aren’t you wearing heels?”

“Your point bein’?” He sighed.

“Angie, get in the galldarn car.”

“Fine.” She slid into the back seat carefully, making sure not to catch her very poofy dress on anything. Once the car started, she stared out the window with determination.

“Marley’s goin’ to be fine,” Fiddleford said gently.

“Hmph.”

“It is odd, though,” Fiddleford said brightly, ignoring the tense atmosphere of the car. “I mean, y’all are pretty good agents. How did everything go so poorly? Did ya plan this beforehand or something?”

 

**September 8, 2000 – Annapolis, Maryland, United States**

Stan walked into the kitchen, yawning. He and Ford were attempting to get back into a regular sleep schedule, if only to prevent their new housemates from realizing something was up. But he was still on Tokyo time from his last mission, and jet lag was difficult to overcome. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and took a few steps before falling.

“What in the-” He stared at the person he had tripped over. “Angie?” She was passed out in the middle of the kitchen, on the floor. He looked around the kitchen for clues as to why she was there. On the table, there was a small stack of National Geographic magazines.

_Maybe she was reading those, fell asleep, and then fell off her chair_ , he thought.

“Uh, Angie?” he tried again. She sat upright immediately and smiled.

“Good mornin’, Stan, how’d you sleep?” He squinted at her suspiciously.

“All right, I guess?”

“I slept pretty well,” she said cheerfully, stretching. “This floor’s a lot more comfortable than the kitchen floor back home.”

“Why- why were you on the floor?”

“I was too lazy to go to my bedroom. You know how it is.”

“Not really, no. You slept on the kitchen floor instead of a bed? Why?” She shrugged expressively.

“Why not?” Stan stared at her for a moment.

“It’s too early to deal with this,” he muttered finally and stood up. “Want some coffee?” 

“No thanks. I had coffee once. It was a bad idea.” She stood up and promptly sat at the table again, opening her magazine to a premarked spot. Stan put on the coffee maker and went to get the newspaper. When he got back to the kitchen, his brother and Marley had joined Angie at the table.

“So you play Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons, too?” Ford asked Marley excitedly. “It’s my favorite game in the entire world!” Angie rolled her eyes but continued to read her magazine without comment.

“Yeah, my character’s a bard.” 

“Fiddleford and I are always looking for new players for our campaign, if you want to play with us sometime.”

“Please do,” Stan said, taking a coffee mug from one of the cabinets and pouring himself a cup. “Then maybe they’ll stop insisting I play with them. I know you think it’s fun, Sixer, but it really isn’t.”

“Stan, we’ll still need a tank. You’re not out of the game that easy.”

“You shouldn’t have chosen a tank,” Angie said quietly.

“What, do you play that game, too?”

“Only when I’m forced to. I chose a, what was it called again Marley?”

“A druid.”

“Yeah, I chose a druid, and my druid ended up bein’ a real wimp, so I’m not usually forced to join a campaign. Especially since Marley’s character is really good at healing.” She looked up from her magazine to fake-glare at Marley. “I hate that I know so much about that game,” she said in a mock-angry tone.

“Yeah, but your character is 6 feet tall.” 

“Imagine,” Angie sighed wistfully. “Not needin’ to stand on something to reach the cookie jar.” Stan leaned against the counter. 

“So, are all of the McGuckets freakishly tall except for you?”

“Nah, Fidds and Basstian are the only ones that are super tall,” she said, flipping through her magazine again. “Lute and I are the shortest, and he’s basically average height. Everyone else is somewhere in between.”

“How old’s Luke?”

“25. And it’s Lute, not Luke. Ya know, like the instrument?”

“There’s an instrument called a lute?”

“Angie, not everyone knows as much about music as your family,” Marley said, momentarily pausing their conversation with Ford. They looked over at Stan. “They’re all named after an instrument. All of them.” Stan frowned.

“Is there an instrument called an ‘angela’?” Angie snorted.

“Nope.”

“Then what is Angie short for?”

“Wouldn’t ya like to know?” she said, closing her magazine and choosing another one from the small pile on the table. 

“Banjolina Quinn McGucket, how many times have I told ya to leave my instruments alone?” Fiddleford demanding, storming into the kitchen. Angie sighed.

“That’s what it’s short for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should make a mention of character ages. In this AU, it takes place in 2002, but Stan and  
> Ford are 25, Fiddleford is 26, Marley is 24, and Angie is 23.


	3. On Mac's Secret Service

**June 23, 2002 – The Northwest Mansion, Berlin, Germany**

Marley was marched down the hall of the incredibly luxurious mansion, their arms pinned to their sides. Apparently, they were going to be shoved into some small room. The interrogation hadn’t gone that well. At least, not for Beffuftlefumpter’s men.

_Did they really believe that the techniques you see in movies would work in real life?_ Marley thought, resisting the urge to roll their eyes. _Damn rich people think they’re so impressive. Intimidation doesn’t work on someone with the proper training._

“Here we are,” the security guard said, opening a door and roughly shoving Marley into a room. “Maybe a few days in the worst sleeping suite on the estate will make you talk,” he growled, letting go of the spy, exiting, and locking the door. Marley looked around.

_This is the worst bedroom in the mansion?_ they thought, taking in the surroundings, _This is nicer than my room back home. The bed alone probably cost more than my entire house!_ They sat cautiously on the four-poster bed and ran their fingers along the fabric. _The sheets probably cost more than the house._ After a pause, they shook their head. _No, not the sheets. The bed, yeah._ There was a small knock on the door. 

“Uh, yes?”

“Are you…decent?”

“Am I-? Oh, yeah. I am.” The door opened and a man quickly wheeled in a cart with three silver platters, each covered.

“Dinner is served,” the man said, setting the platters on a vanity and leaving the room. Marley heard a small click as the door was locked again. They stood up and approached the platters cautiously. Underneath, there was a three-course meal: a salad, some very extravagantly decorated salmon, and a chocolate cheesecake. “Naturally, you are only allowed one fork,” the man said, speaking to Marley through the closed door. “No salad dressing, either. You may have also noticed that you are being provided two courses, plus dessert.” He paused for a moment. “It was suggested by someone to only serve one course, but we are not _savages_.”

“Clearly,” Marley said, unable to help themselves. 

“Your other deductions include a thread count of merely 700, no complementary bathrobe, and only one towel in the adjacent bathroom.” Marley’s eyes widened and they looked around the room quickly. Sure enough, there was a bathroom. Inside the bedroom. And from what they could see, it had a lot of marble. “If you have any dietary restrictions, inform me now.”

“Nope.”

“Very well. Enjoy your meal. Or do not.” Marley heard the man and the cart leave, the man humming under his breath. 

“I should get kidnapped by rich people more often,” they muttered. “In what world is this punishment?”

 

**June 24, 2002 – Berlin Marriott, Berlin, Germany**

The alarm clock went off at 9 AM. Stan slapped the snooze button. They had gotten back to the hotel at about 1:30 AM, and he needed every single minute of sleep he could get. Also, avoiding a pissed-off Angie was a good idea, too. Stan hadn’t realized how terrifying the 5’2 ½” woman could be when angry. She had stormed off, muttering things under her breath that he wasn’t sure were actually words. 

At 9:15, someone knocked on the door. 

“Don’t want room service,” Ford shouted, his voice muffled by the pillow his head was underneath. There was a small _tsk_. The door opened.

“Whoa, hey!” Stan shouted, sitting upright immediately, looking at the door to the hallway. It was closed.

“You shoulda been up fifteen minutes ago,” a distinctive southern female voice said disapprovingly. Ford sat up, too, and Fiddleford emerged from the pile of blankets covering him. All three of them stared at Angie, fully dressed in jeans and a T-shirt reading “Gumption High School Orchestra” on it. This was one of the few times they had all gone on a trip together, so they had adjoining rooms. Fiddleford shared one with Stan and Ford, while Marley and Angie shared the one that was connected. At the moment, Stan was not very fond of the situation.

“Angie!” Fiddleford said, aghast. “Manners!” She scoffed.

“Don’t ‘manners’ me. Y’all better get ready soon. The Chief wants us back at HQ at 2.”

“2 PM?” Ford asked, blindly reaching for his glasses and knocking them off the nightstand. “What’s the rush, then?” Angie rolled her eyes, picked up Ford’s glasses off the floor and handed them back to him.

“He sent some more intel about the situation, and wants us to come up with a plan to rescue Marley.”

“Oh, shit,” Stan said, rubbing his face, “that’s right, Marley got kidnapped.”

“I’m just goin’ to ignore the whole ‘forgetting someone was taken hostage’ thing,” Angie said, and sat on the edge of Ford’s bed. Ford instinctively pulled up his sheets. “I’m also goin’ to ignore that,” she muttered. “But beyond doing our jobs, I don’t know about you guys, but I’d appreciate everyone comin’ clean. About everythin’.”

“Of course, Angie,” Fiddleford said. “Just, leave us be for the moment, all right? We’ll knock on your door when we’re ready to sit down and have a nice long chat.” She nodded.

“Okay.” She left the room, closing the door behind her. Stan flopped back down on the bed. Immediately, Fiddleford’s alarm clock went off. Stan groaned.

 

Stan, Ford, and Fiddleford were all sitting in the room Angie was sharing with Marley. Well, was _supposed_ to be sharing with Marley. Angie was on an armchair, her legs hugged up to her chest, looking even smaller than usual. Fiddleford was sitting on the floor near her, clearly wanting to comfort his younger sister, but also clearly not wanting to invade her personal space.

_Ironic, seeing as how she invaded ours_ , Stan thought, still kind of ticked off about her rude arrival in their room. He was sitting on the edge of Marley’s bed, as was Ford. 

“A little over a month before I graduated,” Angie said abruptly, looking out the window, “I realized I was bein’ followed by someone. So, I did my best to lose him. Ended up doing so a couple times, but I would always find him right behind me again. Called the police.” She shrugged. “And then, a week after this guy stopped followin’ me, another guy harassed me. Big, buff, scary-lookin’ fellow. I was walking down the street, he stopped in front of me, wouldn’t let me pass. So I crossed the street, went just past where he was standin’, and crossed again. Then he started chasin’ after me.” She sighed and stretched her legs out, assuming a more typical sitting position. “I knew that I wouldn’t be able to keep out of reach for very long, that he’d catch up to me eventually.” She paused.

“And?” Ford prompted.

“And I ran down an alley that I cut through every now and then to get to the library quicker. There was a fire escape there, and I climbed up it to the roof. Luckily, I was in an area of San Diego that has buildings close enough I could jump from rooftop to rooftop, or at least jump rooftop to fire escape. Guys that are all muscle aren’t usually agile. I got away from him, called the police, and went back to my apartment. He was a scout for Gravity Falls. Turns out that all graduates of West Coast Tech and its related West Coast Ivy schools are considered for recruitment. Not all of ‘em make it, of course.” She closed her eyes. “A week after I graduated, I some strange man in a black suit showed up at the apartment and asked to speak with Marley and me. Before I knew it, I was in Yugoslavia, undercover in a drug cartel.” She chuckled softly. “That was an interesting first trip out of the US.”

“Wait, your first mission was undercover in a drug cartel? In Eastern Europe?” Ford asked. Stan couldn’t tell whether his twin was jealous or just confused. “How long did it last?”

“A little over three weeks. Marley and I never handled any of the drugs, we did other things.”

“Our first mission was to find out if some loser living in his mom’s basement was planning on killing a lotta people,” Stan said. “I pretended I was a Mormon to distract him, and Ford was supposed to go inside, get the info we needed, and then leave. Supposed to.” Stan looked at Ford accusingly.

“I tripped over a cord and knocked a lamp over,” he said quietly. Angie snickered. Ford turned red. “I was nervous!”

“Ford, chill, I was just teasing you,” Stan huffed. “I think everyone was nervous on their first mission. Anyways, we ended up having to subdue him. Turns out, if you threaten a guy well enough, you get the information even faster than if you had to search through an entire house.” He shrugged. “Worked out pretty good for us.” Angie leaned forward in her chair.

“What was your test, though? They had me figure out a way to properly avoid or win a fight with someone who could, frankly, squash me like a corn worm.”

“Corn worm?”

“What, you don’t squash corn worms?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen one,” Ford said. Angie frowned.

“That can’t be right.”

“Anyways,” Stan said, “I don’t think I had one.”

“Really.” Stan shrugged.

“A lot of things happened in the weeks before I was recruited. A lot of things happened in the months and years before I was recruited. Who knows what was or what wasn’t a test?” He paused for a moment, thinking. “Might’ve been the people that tried to throw me off a cliff.”

“My test was my own personal _Kobayashi Maru_ ,” Ford said.

“I don’t speak Japanese,” Angie said after a minute passed. “What does that mean?”

“It’s a Star Trek reference,” Fiddleford said. “The details aren’t important; basically, it means that Ford was given a no-win situation. That there was no possible way he could manage to succeed at somethin’.” Fiddleford gave Ford an odd look. “That is, unless you cheat.”

“I did _not_ cheat!”

“Really? Because that’s what I’ve been told. You hacked the system, made it so you _could_ win. That’s cheating.”

“No, it’s finding a solution no one else could.” 

“So, Stan, when were you and Ford recruited?” Angie interjected.

“Don’t know when Ford was,” Stan said gruffly. “I was living on my own back then. Sometime in 1998. August, maybe.”

“I was recruited soon after graduation, as well,” Ford said. He looked down at his hands. “I told them that, if I were to have a partner for missions, the best person for the job would be my twin brother.”

“What, am I supposed to thank you, now?” Stan asked.

“No! It was my fault that you got kicked out of the house in the first place! I was just trying to sort of redeem myself.”

“…Oh.” An awkward silence fell. Angie turned to face her brother.

“What about you, Fidds?”

“Oh, it wasn’t a big deal or anythin’,” Fiddleford said. “They ended up decidin’ I wasn’t cut out for field work, but that my talents were perfect for tellin’ other folks what to do. So, I became a moderator. Moderated your first mission.” He sighed. “Part of the reason why I invited ya to stay with me was so I could keep an eye on ya. It’s rough bein’ stuck behind a screen while the people I care about are gettin’ shot at. Had to make a persona to deal with it.” Angie made a small noise. They all sat there for a minute or two, avoiding eye contact. Finally, Stan cleared his throat and addressed Angie.

“Do you get into trouble with the Chief very often? You did say you were hoping not to visit his office this month.”

“How often is often?” Stan chuckled.

“Fidds, your baby sister is a trouble maker.”

“Hey!”

“It’s all right, Mac appreciates when people have the guts to stand up to him. Not many people do, anymore,” Fiddleford reassured Angie.

“Mac?” Ford asked.

“The Chief,” everyone else responded at once.

“Wait, the Chief’s name is Mac?” Everyone muttered words of assent. “Why am I the only person that didn’t know this?”

“You never get in trouble, so you’ve never seen his office before,” Stan said. “He’s got one of those name things on his desk. Doesn’t have his full name, just says ‘Mac’.”

“Hmm.” Ford still appeared to be slightly put out about not being in the know, but he powered through it. “So, should I get my laptop, and we can find some blueprints, devise a rescue plan?”

“Sounds perfect,” Fiddleford said. “We should take care of the problem as soon as possible. I mean, who knows how Marley’s being treated?”


	4. Bicker Another Day

**June 25, 2002 – Berlin, Germany**

“Das ist mir Wurst.”

“…Wurst means, like, hot dogs, right? Are you ordering lunch or something?”

“Shh!”

“Did you just shush me?”

“Nein, nein. Ich vertraue dir. Ja, danke.” Angie hung up and turned to face Stan. “What was so important that you were interrupting my call with an informant?”

“Why were you talking about hot dogs?”

“I wasn’t. It’s a saying in Germany.”

“About hot dogs.”

“For Pete’s sake, Stan.” They were about a block away from the Northwest Mansion, waiting for the signal to begin heading there. They had decided it would be best to stagger their arrival times, and a lone man and a man and woman didn’t attract as much attention as any other combination would have. 

“I’m just saying.” They stood in silence for a moment, listening to the bustle of the busy German city. Angie closed her eyes and tilted her head back, zoned out, not really registering anything other than the snippets of conversation from people passing by. She mentally translated as much as she could. She wasn’t nearly as good at German as Marley was, but she was able to get by fairly well. 

“Diamond, Caesar, you can begin heading toward the location,” Fiddleford said over the comlink, in his altered British voice, jolting Angie out of her reverie. 

“Copy,” Angie and Stan said together. They began to walk down the street.

“So, you take German in high school or something, then?” Stan asked casually. He was beginning to realize how little he actually knew about Angie. 

“Yeah, all four years.”

“Is that why your German accent is so good?”

“Nah, that’s because Marley gave me vocal tips after we were recruited. I don’t know if you’ve realized, but I have a _slightly_ distinctive voice,” she said, with a trace of sarcasm. “I can even throw my voice if need be.”

“Really? That’s a useful skill. Wish I’d had that back in the 90s.”

“Diamond, Caesar, hate to interrupt your bonding session, but we’ve got a problem,” Ford said over the comlink. “I’m at the door we’re supposed to be entering through, and the lock system is a bit more advanced than the building plans said.”

“How much more advanced?” Fiddleford asked.

“There’s both a keypad and a fingerprint scanner here.”

“Should’ve known better than to think it would be even slightly easy,” Stan grumbled. “Diamond and I should be there soon. Maybe ask Gif if he has any ideas.”

“It’s pronounced ‘jif’, Caesar,” Ford said.

“Oh, do you pronounce it ‘jraphics’?”

“I pronounce it the proper way.”

“I think you mean the wrong way.”

“Sweet sarsaparilla, just ask Gif how he wants us to pronounce it,” Angie said, exasperated.

“I don’t care how you pronounce it,” Fiddleford responded.

“What?”

“I know what you mean when you say it either way, I don’t care how you pronounce it. Can we just get back on track now, please?” 

“It’s still pronounced ‘jif’.”

“Shut up, Atbash.” Angie and Stan rounded the corner. They could see Ford standing by the servant’s entrance, at the back of the mansion. He waved them over.

“Can you still break in?” he asked Stan once they were next to him.

“With brute force, maybe. I can pick locks, but they can’t be all technological and shit. Atbash, this is more up your alley. Think you can handle it?”

“Hacking a keypad wouldn’t be too much of a problem, but the fingerprint recognizer is. Breaking past a fingerprint scanner requires preparation. We are not prepared for this.”

“I thought our info was recent,” Angie said.

“It is. Within a month. This must be new,” Ford replied.

“Naturally we fuck up early on,” Stan groaned. “Did anyone really think we would be able to just walk in?”

“Okay, first off, watch your language, Caesar.”

“Did I upset your southern sensibilities, Gif?”

“Second, Diamond, look to your left. You should see a-”

“- _Pinus sylvestris_ , yeah, I see it.” She craned her neck back, scanning the building. “There’s an open window about fifteen feet up.”

“Think you can make it without setting off your allergies?”

“I climbed the Christmas tree in ’86, remember? You worry too much.” She took a few steps back, got a running start, and leapt up, grabbing the lowest branches. Stan and Ford watched her scale the tree as quickly as a squirrel. “Man, you’d think that rich people would take better care of their plants,” she said as she made her way up. “This poor baby’s low on nitrogen.”

“Diamond, if we could stay on task,” Fiddleford said in a long-suffering tone.

“Right, sorry.” She cautiously made her way onto a limb that was at roughly the same height as the open window. She took a quick breath and then jumped, barely catching the windowsill with her fingertips. 

“Does she normally do that?” Ford asked.

“It’s my signature move,” she responded over the comlink. “Been jumpin’ from trees since I was three years old. Gimme a few, Atbash and Caesar, I’ll come and get ya.” After about five minutes, the door opened slowly and Angie peered around it cautiously.

“I’m surprised,” Ford said to her.

“What, that I can do my job?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“No, of course not!”

“Relax, nerd. She’s razzing you,” Stan said, walking inside. They were in what was clearly the mansion’s kitchen. It was just as luxurious as the rest of the house and had far too many appliances. A servant was knocked out and tied up near one of the massive refrigerators. “Had some trouble?”

“Not really, no,” Angie said. “That person is a patissier. Not the most threatening individual I’ve ever dealt with.”

“What’s a patissier?”

“Like a fancy pastry chef.”

“Then why didn’t you say ‘fancy pastry chef’?”

“I swear, moderating you folks is like herding cats,” Fiddleford said, exasperated. “Turquoise’s comlink wasn’t confiscated until a few hours ago, so unless they were moved in the meantime, they should still be in the same room.”

“Rich people should be better at this,” Angie said idly, opening the door to the kitchen and checking the hallway. “Coast’s clear.” They walked quietly, their footsteps muffled by the carpet. 

“Atbash, why don’t you break off and go find the security room right about now?” Fiddleford suggested. “I’ll give you directions. Caesar, Diamond, try not to draw any attention to yourselves and then I’ll tell you where to go.”

“Got it.” Ford walked off, listening intently to Fiddleford’s instructions. 

“Why do we keep getting paired off?” Angie wondered. Stan shrugged.

“Beats me.” Suddenly, they both heard voices approaching. “We’ve gotta hide,” Stan said urgently. 

“Uh, in there!” Angie said, pointing to an unassuming door. Stan opened it. 

“No dice. It’s a supply closet. We can’t both fit.”

“Them’s quittin’ words,” Angie said determinedly, sliding into the closet after Stan, and shutting the door. They were very close together. Stan was not comfortable.

“Well, this is getting weird.”

“It’s only weird if you make it weird. Now, shush!” The voices got louder, then eventually faded as the people walked past.

“Diamond, Caesar, come in.” 

“We read you, Gif,” Angie said, still pressed up against Stan. Stan opened the door and they both tumbled out. “Did you need to do that?” she asked him.

“For my sanity, yes,” Stan said. Angie’s face was slightly pink. 

“Do I want to know?” Fiddleford asked.

“Eh.”

“Okay then. Diamond, you’ll be entering the room Turquoise is in via the air ducts. This should give you enough time to explain the situation to them while Caesar makes his way to the room and picks the lock.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Caesar?”

“Yeah, sure.” 

“Gimme a boost then will ya?” Angie asked, pointing at an air vent. “I’m a bit too short to reach it on my own.”

“Okay.” He helped her up. She took the grate off the vent and crawled inside. 

“Diamond, just keep going straight ahead until you see another grate. That should be the one in Turquoise’s room.”

“Got it.”

 

Angie managed to, with some difficulty, kick the grate of the vent off, making Marley jump. 

“Angie?” Angie said something, her response muffled. “If you jump down, I’ll catch you,” they said, moving underneath the vent. She took them up on the offer, sliding out of the air duct and into Marley’s arms. 

“Thanks.” Marley put her down. 

“Want some shrimp cocktail?”

“Shrimp cocktail?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure.” Marley handed her part of their dinner. 

“So what’s the big rescue plan?”

“Okay, here’s the deal.” Angie put aside the admittedly delicious shrimp cocktail. “Stan and Ford are members of Gravity Falls.”

“What?”

“They’re Caesar and Atbash, respectively.”

“Oh my god.”

“They’re helping me with the rescue mission. Stan should be picking the lock within a few minutes. Ford is making sure security doesn’t interfere.”

“Wow.”

“Also, Gif is actually Fiddleford.” Marley’s eyes widened. “Yeah, I’m still strugglin’ with that part.”

“So, this means that you yelled at both of the twins for not doing their jobs and intervening when things went downhill.”

“I also yelled at the Chief.”

“Again?”

“Yeah. Okay, here’s the weird part. You know how I was flirtin’ it up with the security so that no one would mess with your part of the mission?”

“Yes.”

“And it was a masquerade.”

“…Did you flirt with Stan or Ford?”

“Stan.”

“Good god, Angie.” 

“I’m sorry. I failed ya as a partner and a friend.”

“Oh no, don’t say that. I actually think it’s kind of funny.”

“Wait, what?” There was a small knock on the door. It opened. Stan was in the doorway. 

“You ready to leave or what?”

“As long as you two don’t get distracted by flirting again, sure.” Angie turned bright red. 

“Seriously?”

 

**June 25, 2002 - Helmut’s 24/7 Pancake Diner, Berlin, Germany**

“I would like some orange juice, please,” Ford said, handing the menu to the waiter.

“Orangensaft,” Marley supplied. 

“Yes, that.”

“Wurst,” Stan said, with a meaningful look at Angie, who rolled her eyes.

“You can’t just get away with saying one word and having it be the whole order,” Ford said out of nowhere.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s not the proper way to say things. Grammar, Stanley.”

“Jrammar, Stanford,” Stan retorted.

“Kaiserschmarren,” Angie said, handing over her menu while side-eyeing Ford.

“Currywurst,” Marley said.

“Currywurst,” Fiddleford said as well, “und ein Bier, bitte.” Everyone looked at him oddly. “Hey, dealing with you guys could drive a man stronger than me to drink.”

“True,” Angie said. They sat in silence, a few of them playing with straw wrappers, others looking outside at the rain. Because, naturally, it had started raining on their way to the diner after checking back in at base.

“Hey, so, I just think you guys should know something,” Marley said abruptly. Everyone looked at them. “If you ever get kidnapped, get kidnapped by rich people. They had no clue what they were doing. My room as a prisoner was better than my room back home.” Angie rolled her eyes, Stan huffed, Ford scoffed, and Fiddleford sighed. “What?”

“Sorry, it’s just, things are a bit tense right now,” Angie said. “What with this big revelation and there being a mole in Gravity Falls and everythin’.” Marley leaned forward.

“There’s a mole in Gravity Falls?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought I recognized that voice.” Immediately, everyone focused upon Marley.

“What do you mean?” Fiddleford asked in a low voice.

“Well, not everyone in that mansion was quiet,” they said. “A lot of people were very loud, even when they were walking right by my room. Most of the voices, I didn’t recognize, but there was one that stood out. It wasn’t a voice, really. It was more of an evil chuckle. And the thing is, I recognized it. I can’t think of the name, but I know that laugh!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, can't believe I'm already halfway through this fic. If you haven't seen your favorite characters show up yet, don't worry, they'll appear eventually.  
> Bonus points to anyone who catches my five or six references to canon. And my attempt at foreshadowing.


	5. Dr. Pines

**September 13, 2000 – Annapolis, Maryland, United States**

Stan was awoken by the sound of mockery. Or at least, his brother’s weird version of it.

“I’m just saying, if you had studied an actual science field, you wouldn’t have gotten into West Coast Tech.”

“Excuse me?!”

“It’s very difficult to get into the science program there.”

“I know! I was in the science program there!”

“You were in the Biology program there. Two separate things.”

“So you’re one of _those_ people, huh? The ones that don’t consider biology to be a real science. You probably majored in physics.”

“Your point being?”

“You physics people think you’re so special and important and the only true scientists. All ya do is theoretical work. At least I’m out and about, traipsin’ through forests, learnin’ and findin’ things. Ya just have a bunch of equations. I have cold, hard, scientific data.”

“Since when is acting like a forest creature considered science?”

“You salt-lickin’, hornswagglin’-”

“What the hell is going on here?” Stan demanded, walking into the living room. Angie and Ford stopped mid-fight. Angie was so furious Stan could practically feel it radiating off of her in waves. 

“Your brother found out I went to West Coast Tech and decided to tell me that there’s no way I coulda made it in, if I hadn’t chosen to study Biology.”

“There are fewer applicants for the Biology program there. I tried for the Physics program, which is far more prestigious.”

“How dare ya! My degree is less than someone else’s just because I chose to study livin’ things, not write Greek letters and long numbers? That’s malarkey!” 

“It is kinda bullshit, Ford,” Stan said, crossing his arms.

“She did not say that.”

“I got the gist of whatever southern thing she said was. And you both studied science. Don’t tear her down just ‘cause she went to a different school. Or, if you still want to fight, don’t do it so loudly that it wakes me up. I need my sleep.” He left the room and was in the hallway when he heard Ford say something he couldn’t quite make out to Angie. A split second later, Angie stormed past, muttering under her breath about ‘city slickers’. 

 

**June 27, 2002 – Berlin-Dahlem Botanical Garden and Botanical Museum, Berlin, Germany**

Angie sighed heavily and adjusted her evening gown, then her wig.

“Why are you wearing a wig, again?” Ford asked her, also messing with his formal attire. 

“Because I’m undercover. I’d prefer to not wear one, but it makes hidin’ my identity easier.”

“If you want to hide who you are, I’d suggest covering up your voice, rather than your hair.” Angie glowered at him.

“I get the feeling that you don’t really believe I’m good at my job,” she said, adopting a silky Midwestern voice halfway through the sentence. 

“You majored in Biology.”

“You majored in Physics.”

“Touché.”

“Diamond, Atbash, are you done bickering?” Fiddleford said over the comlink.

“More or less,” Ford responded, giving up on fixing his cuff links. Angie rolled her eyes and did them for him. 

“Good, because this mission relies upon you pretending to like each other.”

“The mission relies upon us pretending to be married, not pretending to like each other.”

“What world do you live in where married people don’t like each other?” Angie asked, perturbed. 

“The real one,” Stan said over the comlink. “Now, can you two nerds go inside and get to work? The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can all go to bed.”

“Agreed,” Marley said.

“Fine,” Angie and Ford said in unison. Ford offered his arm. Angie took it and fixed a high-society casual smile upon her face. Ford replaced his annoyed expression with a generic upper-class one. They walked into the building, which was bustling with well-dressed people, standing around, discussing the life sciences and climate change. 

“I still think that this mission would have worked without the two people who get along least getting paired up,” Marley said.

“Diamond and Atbash are scientists, they’re the natural choice to, y’know, pretend to be scientists,” Fiddleford said. “Let me know when you see Preston Northwest.” Angie and Ford scanned the room.

“I think I see Quintin Trembley,” Ford said, intrigued. “His theories on alternatives to cryogenics are fascinating, if slightly odd.”

“Over by the string quartet, there’s Ivan, um, I forget his last name. His research has resulted in advancements in the field of neurology,” Angie said.

“Hot Belgian waffles, you’re acting like kids in a candy store,” Stan said. “Just find the rich sucker you’re looking for.” 

“And who might you be?” someone asked, approaching Ford and Angie. 

“Dr. Carlisle Sylvio. This is my wife, Catherine.”

“I’m Ergman Bratsman.”

“I’ve heard of your work in cloning. Extraordinary stuff.”

“Why, thank you, Mrs. Sylvio.”

“Dr. Sylvio,” Angie said, with a vicious smile.

“Oh. My apologies. So, uh, what is your interest in this shindig?”

“Environmental research has always been an interest of both mine and Catherine’s. We hope to find someone who can assist us with preserving salamander habitat on the west coast of the United States.”

“Preservation of salamander habitat?”

“Yes, we fight a losing battle,” Angie said with a dramatic sigh. Marley snorted. “It is difficult to find people to help us. We simply don’t have the right connections.”

“Well, if you want connections, Preston Northwest is over there,” Bratsman said, gesturing. “He’s got influence in a lot of government on the west coast.” 

“Thank you, Bratsman,” Ford said. “Dear, do you want to go talk to Mr. Northwest now?”

“But of course. Thank you for your assistance.” They quickly walked away.

“Now all we have to do is talk science for a long enough time that he lets his guard down,” Angie said in a hushed voice.

“You both practice that so much at home, it should be easy.”

“Can it, Caesar,” Ford said. He and Angie approached the brown-haired man standing in the corner. “Preston Northwest, yes?”

 

**November 22, 2000 – Annapolis, Maryland, United States**

“Why are you so chaotic neutral?”

“What?”

“Why do you fall asleep everywhere?”

“Okay, first, why did ya phrase it that way, and second, why are you only gettin’ angry about it now? I’ve lived here for months.”

“Because Fiddleford just informed me that I am the only person that wakes you up if I trip over you.”

“This is significant how?”

“Whenever I trip over you and wake you up, you immediately launch into an argument we had hours ago!”

“Maybe you should stop trippin’ over me!”

“Maybe you should stop sleeping on the floor!” Stan walked past Angie and Ford with a sigh. He took a seat at the kitchen table. Marley was sitting there, reading the newspaper. Fiddleford was messing around with the stove, cooking something.

“How long have they been at it?” he asked tiredly.

“About an hour and a half, now.”

“Good, they should calm down soon.”

 

 **June 27, 2002 – Free University of Berlin campus, Berlin, Germany**

“I agree, the Rot- und Silberlaube, while excellent architecture, could use refurbishment,” Angie said pretentiously. “Preston, I must thank you again for willing to take a stroll through the grounds with us.”

“It was no problem at all, Dr. Sylvio. So many of those so-called scientists had no class.”

“I could not agree more,” Ford said in the same tone as Angie. “It truly is a shame that the sciences have become so lax. I saw someone wearing khakis.”

“The gall! Now, where was the area of Oregon you intended upon preserving land? You were incredibly persuasive, I must admit. Your sources and data are spotless.”

“A small lumber town in Roadkill County.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite sure,” Marley said, stepping out of the shadows and onto the path. Stan followed suit.

“Who- who are you?” Preston asked.

“Wow, I’m insulted,” Marley said, crossing their arms. “I was literally in your house two days ago.”

“The spy!” Preston looked back at Angie and Ford. “Quick, stay and fight, I’ll go get help.” Ford shoved him towards Marley and Stan. 

“You’re so kind,” Angie said, every single word dripping with sarcasm. Stan grabbed the millionaire by his cravat. 

“All right, richie, you’re going to tell us who your source is in Gravity Falls.” 

“I have no idea what you are talking about!” Preston exclaimed. Stan towered over the millionaire.

“You held Turquoise here hostage in _your_ mansion, but you don’t know what’s going on? Bullshit.”

“I second what Caesar is saying,” Marley said, making their voice as low as possible. “Give us the name of the mole, or you’ll regret it.”

“Mole? How dare you! My wife’s skin has no blemishes!”

“You’re answering questions we’re not asking,” Stan said. “I don’t give a damn about your wife, I just need to know who the hell told you that Gravity Falls would be canvassing the gala.”

“I will pay you to stop.”

“Not gonna work, Northwest. Some things are more important than money,” Marley said. “Now, talk, before we stop doing this the easy way and start doing it the hard way.” They grabbed Preston’s face roughly. “The hard way involves punching.” Preston went white.

“All right, all right, I’ll talk.” Marley let go of his face.

“Then talk.”

“I don’t know his name. And I don’t know his ‘code name’ or whatever drivel you agents call it.”

“Then what do you know?”

“About seven years ago, he got banned from field work due to an injury. A dreadful one, I can’t imagine only having one eye.” Ford looked up. He had been ignoring much of the interrogation session, but he had an awful feeling he knew exactly who Preston was talking about.

“Which eye is he missing?” Stan asked, a similar feeling of dread uncurling in his stomach.

“His left eye.”

“Shit.” Marley, Stan, and Angie looked at Ford. “I know who it is.” 

“Who?” Marley asked.

“Cipher.”

 

**January 7, 2001 – Annapolis, Maryland, United States**

“Oh my gosh, Stanford, are you excited?”

“For the total lunar eclipse? Why would I not be?”

“I’m always in the wrong place to be able to see eclipses, but not this time!” Marley poked their head into the kitchen.

“Hey, you guys are getting along for once!”

“Astronomy is a unifying factor that breaks down barriers, Marley,” Ford said, brushing it off. “A total lunar eclipse, while more common than a total solar eclipse, is still worth getting along for.” He looked at Angie. “Apparently, Angie made some friends in the Astronomy department at West Coast Tech that have been telling her the best tips for viewing an eclipse.”

“They also were able to help me find the best possible telescope for the best price,” Angie said excitedly. “I have connections.”

“Well, they’re almost certainly better than Stanley’s,” Ford said with a slight chuckle. He saw the confused looks on Angie and Marley’s faces. “It’s probably for the best that you didn’t understand what I was making a reference to.”

“If you continue to be all mysterious about things, we’ll start arguin’ again. Don’t ruin this, Stanford.”

“It’s a two-way street, Banjolina.” Angie raised an eyebrow.

“Tread carefully, Ford.” Fiddleford walked into the kitchen.

“So, did y’all hear about the lunar eclipse?” Angie and Ford immediately perked up again.

“It’s so excitin’!”

“Eclipses are fascinating phenomena.” The conversation quickly became complicated, filled with scientific terminology, interspersed with occasional exclamations of wonder. At one point, Stan wandered in, got a cup of coffee, and left, muttering under his breath.

“Nerds.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was more filler than I planned, but it's necessary (and hopefully entertaining) filler, so that things can really start picking up speed. There are only three more chapters left, after all.  
> I won't be able to update this until after I'm done with midterms. So, chapter six will go up Saturday (3/12), chapter seven will go up next Monday (3/14), and chapter eight will go up next Wednesday (3/16).


	6. Dealbreaker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long to be posted. I had midterms. Hopefully, the next will be up soon.

**August 31, 1998 – Atlantic City, New Jersey, United States**

Stan hadn’t seen his brother in years, but he recognized Stanford immediately. Ford always walked with his hands in his pockets and the weight of the world on his shoulders. College must’ve given him some form of self-esteem, though, because Stanford seemed a bit more optimistic than he remembered. Ford saw him and quickly walked over.

“Stanley!” He held out his arms for a hug. Stan grunted. Ford put down his arms, disappointed. He leaned against the wall, next to Stan. “I, uh, I’m sorry it took me so long to contact you.” Stan grunted again and spat out his cigarette, grinding the butt of it underneath his heel. “Stan, would it kill you to respond in actual words?”

“Would it have killed you to stand up for me five years ago?”

“Would it have killed me to stand up to Pa? Maybe.” Stan looked away from his brother. “Stanley, I know that I should have been a better brother. I should have called you at some point during these past few years. But I’m trying to make up for that now.” Silence. “…I missed you, Stan.” Stan sighed heavily.

“I missed you, too, Poindexter.” Ford cracked a small smile.

“Misters Pines and Pines, I presume?” a poised voice said. Stan bolted up, immediately going into a defensive stance. “Relax, gentlemen.” A slim man seemed to melt out of the shadows in the alley. He wore a glaringly yellow suit, a top hat, and an eye patch. 

“Who are you?” Stan growled. 

“What, did no one tell you?”

“Clearly,” Stan replied, crossing his arms. 

“The name’s Bill. But you can call me Cipher. Now, come along, gentlemen. Gravity Falls awaits!”

 

**June 27, 2002 – Berlin, Germany**

The Stanleymobile tore down the streets of Berlin, ignoring pedestrians. 

“Are ya sure it’s Cipher?” Angie asked. “Isn’t Cipher supposed to be this really high-up fella? Like, second-in-command high-up?” Ford looked back at her.

“I’m positive. And yes, he is a very high-level agent of Gravity Falls. Which is why Stan is ignoring the rules of the road.”

“He ignores the rules of the road anyways,” Marley said drily, pulling Angie back to her seat next to them. “You need to buckle up, Angie. Driving isn’t safe when Stan is doing it.” 

“Damn straight,” Stan muttered under his breath, whizzing past a vehicle with “Polizei” emblazoned on the side.

“Stan, you just sped past a police cruiser!”

“There wasn’t anyone in it!”

“How do you know that?”

“Hey, I was on the run from the law for a very long time. I can tell whether a cop’s in a car or not.”

“You were on the run from the law?” Angie asked, buckling her seatbelt as Stan took a sharp turn at top speed.

“Yeah. When Gravity Falls came knocking on my door, I thought the FBI had finally caught up with me. Glad they hadn’t. Would’ve been difficult to save the world from a prison cell.”

“The FBI was after you?”

“Yeah. It’s no big deal.”

“It kinda seems like a big deal.” 

“It’s really not,” Stan said with a tone of finality. He pulled to an abrupt stop outside HQ. “All right, everyone out! We gotta mole to, uh, what do you do with moles?”

“Shoot ‘em,” Angie supplied, opening the back door.

“Unearth them?” Ford suggested.

“Uncover?” Marley offered, getting out of the car.

“I like shooting them,” Stan said. Angie grinned.

“Good thing I brought my shotgun.”

“Everybody, get your miscellaneous firearms,” Ford said, popping the trunk and taking his handgun. Angie reached past him and grabbed her choice of weapon. Ford eyed it suspiciously. “You sure you can handle that?”

“I’ve used it to take down cattle rustlers,” Angie said, nonchalant. 

“Really?”

“Pfft, no, of course not! What, do ya think I grew up in Texas? I have taken down my fair share of bucks though.” She got a wicked glint in her eye. “Now I get to take down a Bill.” Stan closed the trunk, tossing Marley their pistol.

“Now, hold on here. I think if anyone should get the chance to shoot Cipher, it should be either me or Ford.”

“Ford or me.”

“Jrammer, Stanford.” Ford sighed.

“Poor word placement aside, I agree with Stanley. Cipher was the one who recruited us. He broke a deal with _us_. _We_ should be the ones to go after him.”

“Look, this whole ‘dibs’ situation only works if Cipher is even at HQ,” Marley said.

“He is. He’s always at HQ.”

“Except for when he was recruiting you guys,” Angie said, shouldering her shotgun.

“Yes. Except for then.”

 

**August 31, 1998 – Atlantic City, New Jersey, United States**

Stan and Ford followed Bill a few steps behind. 

“This guy seems kinda shifty,” Stan muttered to his brother. 

“Oh, relax, Stanley. I’m sure he’s legitimate. He seems like a perfectly trustworthy person to me.”

“See now, I can recognize a con man when I see one. Hell, I see a con man every morning when I look in the mirror. And this guy? He’s one. I can tell.”

“You’re just imagining things.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Gentlemen, we’ve arrived.” Stan and Ford stared at the building, then at Bill.

“Is this some kind of joke?” Stan asked. “This is just a bank.”

“Is it, though?”

“What else would it be?” Bill smirked and threw open the doors. The twins followed him. Their mouths dropped open. 

“If this _is_ a bank, it’s the weirdest bank I’ve ever seen,” Ford mumbled, looking around at the computer monitors, high-tech machinery, and large number of people wearing catsuits. “Why is everyone in such skin-tight clothing?”

“They’re spies, Stanford. Actually, we should talk about your names,” Bill said, leaning against a desk.

“Yeah, our Pa gave us matching names. It’s terrible.”

“No, not that,” Bill said, waving a hand. “You’re going to need code names. This is a top-secret organization. Using actual names in the field would be detrimental to our overall goal.”

“And the overall goal is?”

“Protecting the world,” Cipher responded with a toothy smile.

 

**June 27, 2002 – Berlin, Germany**

Stan, Ford, Angie, and Marley burst in through the doors of HQ. Once again, it was a wreck.

“Honeyed horseradish, salt lickin’ skullduggery,” Angie said softly. There were very obvious casualties this time, and far more pools of blood on the floor.

“What the hell does that mean?” Stan asked. 

“It’s the McGucket equivalent of ‘what the fuck’,” Marley supplied. The four of them looked around. Stan caught sight of Fiddleford talking to the Chief again. They all walked over.

“What in the world happened?” Ford asked Fiddleford. His arm was in a sling and he was pale. Well, paler than usual.

“Bill Cipher happened,” he said in a strained voice. “We- we lost some folks this time around. Some good moderators.” The Chief took a deep breath. Stan looked at him. Mac was normally very composed, but in this instance, he was clearly furious.

_Makes sense_ , Stan thought. _If my second-in-command had betrayed me and my entire organization, I would be pissed, too._

“Gif, debrief this squad. I’ll be in my office, attempting to…resolve some of the difficulties of this situation.”

“Yes sir.” Fiddleford saluted the Chief with his non-injured arm. Angie leaned her shotgun against a nearby desk. 

“So what exactly happened, Gif?” Fiddleford sighed heavily.

“When y’all told me that Cipher was the mole, I immediately contacted the Chief to let him know. That’s why I disconnected from the comlink. He…didn’t take the news well.”

“I can imagine,” Stan said drily.

“So, he gathered a small group of top-notch security agents and confronted Cipher. Unfortunately, not all of the security agents were trustworthy.”

“Wait, are you saying that there are multiple moles in Gravity Falls?” Ford interrupted.

“No, not multiple moles. Just one mole and a small group of traitors.”

“Holy shit,” Marley muttered. “Who were the traitors?”

“Uh, gimme a sec.” Fiddleford looked up at the ceiling, mouthing something, trying to remember the names of all the traitors. “Pyronica, Kryptos, 8-Ball, Xanthar, Paci-Fire, Amorphous, Hectorgon, Teeth, Keyhole, and Lavalier.”

“That’s not a ‘small group’,” Stan said. “That’s enough people to have a basketball game.”

“Oh man, that’s terrible,” Angie said, rubbing the back of her neck. “So what happened next?”

“Well, Cipher and his, for lack of a better term, ‘gang’ opened fire on the Chief and just about everyone else here at HQ. We lost some good people today.”

“But you still caught Bill, right?” Ford asked. Fiddleford shook his head.

“No, we didn’t. He and the rest of his followers managed to get away before we could capture any of ‘em.” He looked down. “Second time in as many weeks that HQ’s been wrecked. Somethin’ needs to be done.”

 

**September 27, 1998 – Atlantic City, New Jersey, United States**

“All right then, have you decided what code names you’ll be using?” Cipher asked Stan and Ford. He had been coaching them during their training. 

“Yes, we have,” Ford responded. He had really taken a liking to Cipher. 

_I feel like I can call him a friend_ , he thought to himself. Stan, however, was still suspicious of their recruiter.

“Well then, tell me, and I’ll send you on your first mission.”

“I’m going to go by Atbash and Stan will be going by Caesar.” Cipher nodded approvingly.

“Using codes as code names. I like your style, kid.” Ford beamed at the praise. Stan rolled his eyes. “Okay, your first mission is to find the evidence we need to indict a local man of a terrorist plot. We have it on good faith that he is going to attempt a bombing of some sort. You need to stop it. Think you can handle it?”

“In my sleep,” Ford said confidently. He looked at Stan. Stan grunted in affirmation.

“All right, here are your comlinks. Remember, code names only out in the field.” Stan and Ford took the comlinks from Cipher and put them on. “Your moderator is named Gif. Say hi to him.”

“Hi, Gif.”

“Hello,” a British voice responded. Stan looked at Cipher, confused.

“Our moderator is British?”

“He might be. But he has an accent because we use voice modulators for all our agents. Makes it easier to protect identities and what have you. You’ll be having accents on the comlinks, too. They were specially selected for you.”

“What, we didn’t get to choose our own?”

“Nope!” Cipher said cheerfully. “Now, are you ready to head out into the world?”

“Wait, do we get some sort of reward if we do exceptionally well on our mission?” Ford asked.

“Yes. A paycheck.”

“That wasn’t what I was referring to.”

“I know. But we don’t traditionally offer rewards for doing your job.” Cipher frowned thoughtfully. “How about this. I’m pretty high-up, so I know a lot of things about this organization that most people don’t. If you finish your mission within two hours, I’ll spill some information for you, Atbash. Deal?” He held out a hand. Ford shook it.

“Deal.”

 

**June 27, 2002 – Berlin, Germany**

The Chief took a deep breath before speaking. Once again, Stan, Ford, Fiddleford, and Angie were in the Chief’s office. This time, not only was Marley there, but everyone had a chair. 

“You five have done an exceptional job, uncovering information about the mole we had within our organization,” Mac said slowly. “As such, I’m assigning you a new mission.” Stan opened his mouth, about to quip something, but closed it again. It wasn’t the time or place.

“What is it?” Fiddleford asked.

“Myself and a number of agents will be working on fixing what damage Cipher has done to Gravity Falls. I need you to bring him in. By any means necessary.”

“What?”

“Did you not understand me? I want you to take Bill Cipher down.”


End file.
